


For we were all once good men

by Silver_Evening_Tulips



Series: For we were all once good men [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Blood and Torture, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Evening_Tulips/pseuds/Silver_Evening_Tulips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had captured him, and turned him into a would-be weapon.  </p>
<p>They are HYDRA and they named their creation Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For we were all once good men

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don't know where this came from. I was going to write a fluffy (but still angsty fic :) ) ...It became this. I tried to keep violence as vague as possible, but some might find a scene or two distrubing.

They captured him minutes after his creation. He was doomed the moment he went chasing after that sole HYDRA agent. Untrained, dumb muscle looking for justice for one lost doctor was no contest against an entire Hydra unit.

He struggled as they bound and gagged him, but it was not enough. They drugged him into compliance and hustled him aboard their submarine, and he was gone.

***

In a HYDRA base, they experimented. He gave away no secretes; he knew no secretes, yet there was still value in him. Doctors in name only jammed needles into his veins and carved into his skin. _I will not struggle; I will be loyal. Freedom is compliance_. Tore flesh from bone and hair from his head.

Still he struggled-all good men do. They kept on.

They broke, broke, _broke_ him. Over and over again. Until he had forgotten that he was once a good man.

Success.

***

They decided to named him Captain America, a man who was once created for its salvation would now be its destruction.

He was beautiful.  
***

They immediately discovered a problem in their plan. He did not love America or anything it stood for, but did not love them either. He killed without mercy, without discretion.

Captain America could follow their orders. Slaughter this unit; hunt down and dismember this wealthy American family; however, he was just as likely when angered to lash out at them. Split open the heads of _their_ soldiers, _their_ doctors.

After all, they held no leverage over a man who had all love and loyalty burnt out of him. No love for life, no cause to stand behind. No person held dear to him. No way to manipulate him.

Captain America was a heartless shell – both more and less than human than he once had been.

Schmidt made it clear that he loved the outcome. There would be no deactivation.

They watched the beginning of the interesting relationship between the men (Could they still call them both men?). The Captain made it clear that he owed no loyalty, and Schmidt accepted this with pleasure.

“This is good.” They heard him say. “Let them know that you act as a free man, that you destroy them of your own free will.”

They watched as the Captain smiled (How could so much cruelty exist on such a sweet face?) and said, “And at the end…we will see who the serum made better.” (Didn’t he know he wasn’t made by the serum? No, Captain America was truly forged by blood and pain.)

“With pleasure, Captain,” Schmidt had said.

***

 

His station grew with his kill count. They watched with poorly hidden nervousness, as Captain America moved freely now. No longer shadowed by Hydra agents armed with anesthesia and weaponry. He came and went as he pleased, but always returned with a blood soaked uniform and a decidedly satisfied tilt to his lips.

He returned the happiest (for lack of a better word) he had ever been after a particular mission. They had delivered Schmidt’s request (order?) themselves to the Captain: Kill Colonel Phillips and his men.

Later, they would hear the whole story from the few survivors (There had to be a survivor. Where would word get out if there were not? How would the Americans ever know their grave mistake?) of the massacre.

The Captain had not been kind. He had started a fire and trapped the men, herding them into a circle like mindless (Helpless?) sheep. He had then slowly picked them off one by one. There were some that died quickly, a bullet to the head or a snap of the neck; there were others that were flayed to a mess of meat. Pink, raw, and bloody. Those that tried to escape were disfigured beyond recognition by the fire and laid twitching until death took them.

All of this, Colonel Phillips and Peggy Carter were forced to watch. The survivors maintained that these two faced their death with dignity, every prolonged second of it. Despite their attempts to persuade them, the survivors refused to tell them how the two had died.

“It was unspeakable,” the one with the melted face had garbled out. They had then put them both down. Useless.

They continued to allow the Captain to walk by with bowed heads and taunt, taunt shoulders; they wondered when he would snap. They waited.

***

It is a well-known fact among them all that one of the Captain’s not so secret joys was to watch their experiments. He took pleasure in choosing the men or women (The Captain was not moved by soft curves and high-pitched screams.) who would be flayed, burnt, _changed_.

There was never any emotion on his face except the subtle violent mirth in his eyes, as he walked surveying all of the caged prisoners. No pity in his eyes as he watched men strapped onto tables being altered, tortured.

This day was no different. They had a young man no older than his mid-twenties (with brown hair and blue eyes. Despite the blood streaming from his forehead and lip, he was still weakly struggling against the straps holding him down. He must not have been there long if he was still able to do anything but babble. Name, rank, and serial number. Name, rank, and serial number. Name, rank, and serial number.

They had thought the Captain would be pleased. It was an unspoken thing among them that the Captain took special pleasure in the torture of handsome young men. Smirked at the cries of strapping men with strong jaws and taunt muscles.

It had happened in an instant. The Captain had entered the lab with his usual lack of flourish besides the thudding of his impressive boots and looked down at the bleeding man strapped to their table.

His cold, icy blue eyes had met the dazed blue eyes of their prisoner and a strangled cry had pierced the air. “Steve?!”

Captain America had gone rigid. For the first time (the last time?), the Captain looked to be nothing more than human, a mere man.

The next instant  the Captain had their head doctor, Zola (Frigidity and wormlike a despicable man if there ever was one) pinned to the wall by the throat. “Release him.” His voice was no more than a whisper, but it promised bloodshed.

They all scrambled over one another to help the boy up.

***

His name was Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes (Ah, but some of them had heard that name before during the Captain's _changing.)_. He was 25 years old to the Captain’s 24; he was a sniper for the 107th infantry. He was Indiana born and Brooklyn raised, and was an orphan that no one back home would miss.

Captain America called him “Bucky.” And by the fact that he shattered the jaw of an agent foolish enough to get close to James, it was made clear that none of them were to touch him.

***

The Captain’s mercy had not extended to any other man in Sergeant Barnes’ company. All remaining men of the 107th held in their cages were systematically slaughtered by a firing squad, fire, acid, dissections, or _experiments_.

As their chosen agents shot, they looked up and saw the Captain and Sergeant James Barnes watching from a window. Gripping Sergeant James Barnes by the upper arms, Captain America smirked as the first shots were fired.

***

James first four months at the base were characterized by personal escape plans and attempts to liberate Captain America from their “brainwashing.” All of his attempts were quickly and systematically crushed, yet James struggled. He spat and raged against them. He punched and lashed out until his knuckles were bloody and bruised.

He screamed out the same question over and over again. “What have you done to Steve?”

They never answered and took James’ lashings without complaint, without retaliation. Any blow that James could deal would be nothing compared to the Captain’s wrath if _his_ boy was touched by them.

***

The Captain had not changed too dramatically with James’ arrival. He still glided around the base with the ease of a man (A monster?) who knew that he was feared by every inhabitant. A trail of blood still followed in his wake after he returned from a mission. His absences, however, had become decidedly shorter.

Upon his arrival, the Captain’s first stop was always his opulent bedroom (cell, dungeon?) that James was kept in at all times during the Captain’s absence. It was now an unspoken rule that this was the only time they were allowed to use force with James if necessary.

They all could still feel the ache of broken bones when Captain America had discovered that James had refused all meals in his absence, after he saw how sunken in James’ cheeks had become in just a week.

They made sure to force food and water down Sergeant Barnes throat from then on. James stayed healthy whether he liked it or not.

***

At first, they had been hard-pressed to define the nature of the Captain’s relationship with James. They certainly never saw Captain America and James tucked away in a corner talking. There were no soft touches bestowed on James. There was no overt sign that the Captain cared one way or the other about James’ presence. This was only to be expected from their Captain.

If they had not been watching so nervously, waiting so anxiously for disaster, they might not have noticed the subtle changes in the Captain’s behavior. The most obvious of which was the fact that the Captain’s eyes followed James’ movements around the base. Even this could be explained away as a tactical move, if not for the fact that his once deadened eyes now gleamed with possessive fury when Sergeant Barnes so much as looked at anyone else in the base.

They had remained hard-pressed to define the Captain’s attachment to James, until their doctors were ordered to save James from a self-inflicted chest wound (Blood, blood had been everywhere on the white, satin sheets of the Captain's bed.).

The livid, black finger-shaped bruises on his hips had spoken volumes.

***

Nearly a year after James’ arrival, one of their own started to pity the man. She was a young (foolish) scientist that had a hand in only designing the weapons not using them. As James seemed to have an aversion to lashing out at their few female agents, she was often tasked with delivering James' meals.

Despite James’ early hesitance, she and James soon became friends. She told him of her sickly sister that she was using her wages to buy medicine. This had seemed to open James up and, she had listened raptly as James told her about the old days. James said that Captain America had once been just a scrawny kid from Brooklyn named Steve Rogers. James had offered her one of his rare smiles, not stained by bitterness, when he said that this man (boy?) had been his best friend. He told her that Steve had been the only thing that made being an orphan and living in a cheap Brooklyn apartment without heat bearable.

James had paused and then said, “He was…kind, loyal, brave.” Running a hand through his hair, James grinned slightly as he said, “He was so stupid sometimes. He’d go up against two fellas who were ten times as broad as him. He was... I lov-.” Letting out a slightly pained noise, James had nestled his knees to his chest and refused to say anymore.

As she left James in the Captain’s chambers, she pictured the Captain’s blond locks, soft face, and startling (once-kind? She couldn't imagine.) blue eyes and finished up part of James’ statement. _He was beautiful_. She imagined the tortured look in James’ eyes and knew what James had wanted to say. _He was beautiful_. _I loved him_.

***

The female agent went back to see James’ the next day. She said, “I can help you escape.” The rest of the HYDRA agents laughed at her naiveté. The young are always the first to die.

The next day a new female agent delivered James his food. They heard his screams of anguish when James saw his would-be-savior's dead body with a large boot-shaped hole in her skull strung up outside the Captain’s chamber (The Captain had ears everywhere, and nothing bought loyalty faster than fear.).

***

Her name had been Alexandra Huber. They called her crazy, a woman with a death wish. The Captain had fulfilled it.

***

They noticed a change come over Sergeant Barnes after that incident. He no longer struggled with them; he made no more attempts to escape from the base or from life. They saw resignation in James’ eyes (How had he lasted so long? What had Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes been like at full glory?).

The female agent that had taken over delivering food to Barnes stated that James had informed her he would be responsible for no more deaths.

They all laughed at his naiveté, but rejoiced in his new-found compliance. They noticed that the Captain had taken to wearing a satisfied curl to his lip and watched James with ever growing hunger in his gaze.

***

There are some among them who are still foolish and believe the Captain is capable of love.

They argued their point vehemently. _If he does not love, why does he keep him safe?_ _His skills as sniper are great. James could be taught to be loyal, submissive and watch the Captain’s back. Why does the Captain not turn James into one such as him?_

The others laughed at their reasoning. They knew that the Captain did not keep him at the base for his protection. James had become the Captain’s possession, his prize. James Barnes existed to Captain America for no other reason than the Captain’s pleasure, _his_ need.

***

When it is made clear to them that Germany would lose the war, they watched as Schmidt became more and more desperate. They knew Schmidt cared not for Hitler or his aims (Why stop that short? Why not create an entire world devoid of freedom and rife with fear), but Schmidt desired power and domination the whole world over. Victory for Germany would grant him all of that that he desired.

Schmidt gathered up their reports on Captain America and read them all. He instantly became fixated on the presence of James Barnes in the Captain’s life.

“Bring him to me.” Schmidt ordered his most loyal HYDRA agents.

They waited for a not far off day when the Captain left the base for a mission (If it could be called that, a killing spree); they then stole Barnes and went off into the night, seeing shadows shaped like their great Captain all along their path.

***

They are two miles from Schmidt’s lair when they hear the thudding of heavy footfalls (Oh! But how fast their Captain could run!). Their blood froze in their veins, as they saw Captain America break through the trees. The Captain slowed his pace and locked his eyes on their shrinking frames.

  
Licking his lips, Captain America began.

Limbs flew through the air and blood stained and soaked the ground.

They have speculated that nothing would ever be able to grow in that clearing ever again (How could life spring from a place that knew so much violent death?).

***

Captain America won. There was no other way. They heard that he allowed one of their agents to live, so that the man could lead him to Schmidt.

The Captain then proved that the Sergeant should never again be used as though he was the Captain’s weakness.

***

The sole survivor, the most trusted of Schmidt’s men, could no vocalize how he died.

He became quite mad, a shell, a flicker of a flame who had once been a man. He babbled about blood and guts and broke into tears at the sight of uncooked meat.

The Captain remained the victor, a man who could break a person without a touch or a word.  
***

After this, they lost track of the Captain and his Sergeant Barnes for nearly a decade. HYDRA remained a mere drop of their former glory (Oh, but they were growing! Stark was building SHEILD, and Zola and others were oh so secretly letting HYDRA in SHILDS roots, twisting around them like a great serpent).

This base, however, could and would have naturally dried up, if not for the arrival of their Captain and his man.

Captain America came to them unchanged but for an even colder (Was that even possible?) look in his eye. Time was his fool.

James Barnes had aged. Lines had begun to appear around his eyes. He was not a super soldier (Would time be his savior?).

The Captain flicked his eyes around the room, taking in their stances and readying himself for a battle (Did he truly believe they would be so foolish?).

Captain America smiled with false charm. He indicated toward his Sergeant and said, “I have a proposition for you in regards to my… _dear_ companion.”

They watched as James Barnes flinched at his wording; they watched as his nostrils flared (Was he still fighting?).

They fidgeted as the Captain came closer to them; they feared him still. For _always_.

The Captain only smiled at their discomfort. Walking past them, he reclined back in a chair and said, “You see my problem, yes.” They watched as he pointed at Barnes, who had not moved from his position by the door.

The Captain’s eyes burned into the side of his man’s face; James sighed. Tightened his jaw, he moved to sit before the Captain on his knees. Smirking, the Captain lifted one finger and ran it with the appearance of gentleness down James’ face. “He ages.” Captain America said.

They all nodded.

The Captain looked up at them and said, “I hear you know of someone who can fix that.”

They nodded. One of the new recruits (foolish young thing) called out, “What is in it for us?”

The words had barely rung out of his lips when a knife was sent sailing perfectly arched through the air. Its graceful path came to a halt in the recruit’s skull. Right through the eye, they shuddered. Bull’s eye achieved by a hawk’s eye.

Smiling pleasantly, Captain America said, “Your lives.” He scoffed and curled his lips, “Your freedom.” He ran a rough hand through the brown hair bowed before him. The man trembled (With fear? With loathing? With betrayal?). The Captain smiled and said, “That is already more than Bucky here has.”

They twitched at the use of such a loving nickname coming out of their Captain’s lips. It was still unsettling, as it always had been to hear the endearment leave their Captain's lips.

One of them stepped forward with faltering steps and chocked out, “The Red Room. They can help you. I can…I can take you.”

The Captain smirked.

***

They heard that the Captain had taken Sergeant Barnes to the Red Room; they heard that the Red Room’s doctors (for lack of a better word) had pulled Barnes kicking and screaming into their laboratory. They heard that it had taken four men to strap James down; they heard he was pumped full of their own version of the super soldier serum.

The “surgery” was declared a success by the Red Room.

They heard. They heard. They heard. They were _told_ by one their bravest members that Sergeant Barnes had lost his one escape from the Captain.

Their agent whispered that Captain America had thrown back his head and laughed.

***

HYDRA could not be called kind; they would never be called merciful, but even their most hardened members would at times think of the pair of men that they had broken. One directly and the other indirectly.

They would consider the once good man turned into a monster. They would think about the once handsome, charismatic man they had let him destroy.

They would realize that the only thing worse than being hated by their Captain America was being a _necessity_ to him. They realized that that faint shadow of (Love? Desire? Hope?) self that remained in their Captain was enough to doom the man that Steve Rogers, who was dead and gone and might as well have been buried with all of Captain America’s victims, had loved the most.

Ultimately, they had ensured that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would remain the only pale shadow that proved that Captain America had once been a good man.

***

They had been told the serum had magnified all of the pre-existing characteristics in this man Rogers. They had been told that because of this their methods would have to be extreme; they had been told they must break him by any means necessary.

They had done their duty.

They had created a monster.


End file.
